


Darkness Calls

by Lacertae



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Healing, M/M, Nanites, Nanomachines, Omnics, Outdoor Sex, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, Post-Recall, Restraints, Robots, Wounds
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-29
Updated: 2017-05-29
Packaged: 2018-11-06 04:27:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,215
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11028630
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lacertae/pseuds/Lacertae
Summary: *Reaper/Zenyatta* At first, Zenyatta did not notice the black wisps of smoke that coiled around his wrists.They slid their way up his arms as he made his way across the empty street, and when they gained weight and strength, his sensors finally detected the change of temperature and pressure along his chassis; the unexpected sensation made him pause.





	Darkness Calls

**Author's Note:**

> Friend had me read reapyatta drabbles twice in the span of a day, how could anyone not expect I would then want to contribute to the ship myself?
> 
> forgive for the 'omake' at the end, i found it funny. also i utterly failed, as i had wanted to keep this under 2k...

**Darkness Calls**

 

At first, Zenyatta did not notice the black wisps of smoke that coiled around his wrists.

They slid their way up his arms as he made his way across the empty street, and when they gained weight and strength, his sensors finally detected the change of temperature and pressure along his chassis; the unexpected sensation made him pause.

He looked down, hesitating for a second as he observed the tendrils rise from his wrists to his shoulders, then glanced around to check the streets around him, finding them empty.

The area was deserted, as it had been since OverWatch had taken over for the duration of their mission, and he knew better than to expect anyone to appear, now.

“Was there something pressing you needed from me?”

He intertwined his fingers in front of him, posture relaxed, and addressed his question to the empty street, his tone even and polite.

Silence was his only answer.

“If that is not the case, my teammates will be expecting my return soon.” Even as he said that, he did not move, waiting.

A few seconds ticked by before the pressure around his arms tightened. The spires slid through the crevices of his elbow junctures, seeping into the delicate circuitry hidden underneath.

Zenyatta felt his core flutter at the invasion, wires and nodes prickling at the sensation, and his fans whirred. He kept his eyes trained in front of him and allowed his legs to unfold, feet touching the ground.

Normally, the parts of his body that were covered by his chassis were not this sensitive, but the tendrils were not ‘normal’, either –they were mechanical and self-replicating, and since they could interface directly with his processors…

None too gently, the tendrils pulled him to the side. Zenyatta hummed but allowed himself to be tugged across the street and towards a small, arrow alley. It was darker here, the shadows stretching longer as the last few rays of sun vanished from the horizon.

He had not realised it was already this late, and he supposed it would get later still before he returned to his teammates, now.

As he stepped into the alley more tendrils materialized and darted around him, and Zenyatta had little time to react before they wrapped more tightly around his arms and shoved him backwards.

His back collided with the wall, metal clattering loudly against the stones, his arms trapped above his head in a firm grip.

“That is rather unnecessary.” Zenyatta did not appear perturbed at the sudden lack of mobility. “I did come willingly.”

The prickling in his arms intensified, growing from a vague nudge into a noticeable caress, harder to ignore, so Zenyatta chose to focus instead on the mass of writhing darkness that emerged from thin air right in front of him, forming a tall, imposing figure with a familiar white mask.

“Hello, Gabriel.”

Reaper did not answer, but the pressure against his arms tightened, and Zenyatta gasped as pain flared through his circuits for a short, fleeting second before vanishing, replaced once again by the soft stimulation of Reaper’s nanomachines.

It was like a relentless, teasing massage, his sensors caressed and prodded from the inside, and it was… distracting.

The nanomachines bled through Zenyatta’s circuits, advancing from his shoulders to his chest, tiny fragments of darkness covering his frame like a blanket, curling around his core without touching it.

Reaper’s mask hid his expression from Zenyatta, but he could read his aura –it was angry, laced with pain and grief, almost screaming, and it echoed through Zenyatta with such strength it balanced out the distracting touch of Reaper’s nanomachines.

“Is there something you…”

One thin tendril wrapped itself around his throat, passing through his pistons before it solidified into Reaper’s fingers.

 “ _Silence._ ”

Reaper’s voice was rough and throaty, and the hand around Zenyatta’s throat constricted until he could feel the delicate metal of his neck creak, but felt no pain. Instead, the nanomachines vibrated and wormed their way further inside him, synching with his processes, clouding his brain with an onslaught of sudden input.

Zenyatta’s forehead array flickered and his frame trembled as more wisps curled around him, rubbing and curling at all his chassis and exposed circuitry. It was hard to keep focused, when every touch was meant to coax him into submission.

Reaper was panting harshly, and Zenyatta reached out with his senses, past the already familiar, constant agony of Reaper’s core to nudge elsewhere, seeking the cause for Reaper’s erratic behaviour.

Around his neck, where the nanomachines had been avoiding them, his mala vibrated in answer to his emotions.

With a growl, Reaper’s grip on his throat shifted to the base of his neck, forcing Zenyatta to look up and into his mask. “What are you looking at”.

“You are hurt,” he answered, quietly, focusing his awareness to locate the cause of the heightened flare of pain he could _feel_.

Zenyatta kept his stare on Reaper’s mask as he finally detected the dissonance. There, on his back, burned a wound –peculiar and localized, it was worrisome the way it ate away at Reaper’s body. He should have been able to heal something like this on his own, and instead it was still bleeding, and Zenyatta detected, under the blood and the rot, the familiar buzz of a virus.

“That is… troublesome.”

The hand around his throat tightened considerably, and the pressure against his arms became unbearable.

He was trapped against the wall, unable to move his body, and the nanomachines worked their way lower, sliding down his legs, until every inch of his body, save for his head, was prickling with sensation.

“I said…” Reaper took a deep, shaky breath, his words filled with anger and spite, “ _silence_ ”.

Reaper solidified fully against him, his frame wide and heavy against his own, squeezing him against the wall so hard Zenyatta felt almost lightheaded, the continuous touch of the nanomachines chipping away at his focus, making his thoughts waver.

“And _I_ said,” Zenyatta looked up, right where he knew Reaper’s eyes were behind that ghastly mask of his, “you are hurt”.

“Spare me your thoughts on the matter,” Reaper spat out. “I find myself bored already”.

He knew Reaper would deny him information, if he were to ask. The wound was there, and they both knew it, and it was something bad enough that it had affected Reaper to this point, but he would never speak of it, even if Zenyatta asked.

So he did not.

Zenyatta relaxed against the wall, body sinking further into Reaper’s hold. “Then perhaps you should consider a better hobby… ambushing OverWatch agents in dark alleys can get repetitive, more so when they came willingly”.

His mala rose from his neck, hovering in the air above them, circling softly and glowing in the dark, bathing him and Reaper in a warm, healing light.

Zenyatta heard Reaper grunt and seize against him, and every part of his body exploded as the nanomachines connected with his processors.

It was not the first time, and yet he was always unprepared for the assault, the amount of external input those highly technological nanomachines could relay to him as they interfaced with him.

Legs shaking, Zenyatta bared his throat, feeling the fingers holding him slide down, dissolving and solidifying again, this time to grip on his hip. Reaper leaned heavily against him, his other hand coming into being to hold himself against the wall.

Reaper gasped again –a quiet, unsteady sound– as the gaping wound on his back stitched itself together slowly, aided by the soft, warm light of Zenyatta’s mala.

There was no wound nor virus, nor malicious hacking attempt, that could compete with the kind of healing the Iris allowed him. Soon enough, the wound was gone, purified of its virus, leaving behind only a smear of blood.

With a low, threatening growl, Reaper dug his fingers into Zenyatta’s hip and his nanomachines surged up and took over. If Zenyatta had found it difficult to focus with the constant stimulation before, now he found himself powerless to concentrate on anything else but them. Interfacing with him, stretching through his circuits to reach every part of his body, the nanomachines washed through him, emboldened by his healing energy. They caressed his sensitive nodes from the inside, making them flare up and respond. Like invisible hands, they prodded and massaged nerves and wires, leaving no inch of him untouched.

Zenyatta found himself the focus of Reaper’s full attention, arms straining against the restraints as the nanomachines teased the nodes of his elbows and armpits, the ones at the base of his neck and lower chest, filling every crevice under his chassis and sliding through his circuits to the delicate wiring underneath, stimulating the wires in ways no one else could have.

The touches were enough to make his body sing, and Zenyatta crumbled, thought processes halting and thoughts breaking apart.

There was nowhere to run. The pleasure was continuous and complete, it caressed his body like familiar hands, mapping it up and down, knowing where to go and what to touch, and yet it avoided to touch the parts where he needed it the most, as Reaper most of all, wanted to tease him.

Fingers digging into the wall, Zenyatta arched his frame towards him and tried to focus on words, though it took him three attempts before his voice box did more than scratch out static.

“T-there,” he murmured, voice wavering as his mala continued bathing them both in light, “there is n-no weakness in asking, when you are in need–”

Reaper snarled and pushed his hips hard against Zenyatta’s, so he could feel how hard he was. “Do you ever grow tired of listening to yourself talking,” he hissed, but even his voice sounded stronger now, more alive than before, and there was less anger now. He sounded almost amused at Zenyatta’s ability to talk through the pleasure.

Zenyatta’s laughter dissolved into gasps when the Reaper shifted and rubbed himself against his front, nanomachines eating away at the fabric of his pants, ripping through them and revealing his modesty panel.

“Oh–”

He felt one hand brush down against it, fingers seeking the sensors at its sides until Zenyatta was dizzy with anticipation and the panel slid away, uncovering what was underneath to Reaper’s hungry gaze.

He did not know whether it was the nanomachines or Reaper’s hands that pushed his legs apart, spreading him so that Reaper could rub himself against his opening, but every touch was echoed within him by the steady caresses at his circuits, the dual stimulation making him burning.

“Please–” he was not even aware he was speaking, soft moans betraying his desire, and the mala surrounding them glowed brighter for a second, echoing his need.

The nanomachines’ tendrils slid down his thighs and he felt them rub at the folds of his opening, coaxing his processors and boosting his production of lubrication. Soon enough he was dripping lewdly down his legs, staining the tattered remains of his pants with sticky lube.

Every time Reaper pressed down his thumb against him, not sliding inside but just present, tantalising, Zenyatta tried to push into it, and every time Reaper moved away, leaving him bereft and aching for something to fill him.

“So needy…” Reaper leaned forwards, his covered mouth close to Zenyatta’s auricular sensors. “Wet and ready for me.”

Zenyatta moaned again, straining against the tight hold of the coils still holding him captive, and Reaper chuckled, forcing his legs further apart to expose him more, wispy spires trapping Zenyatta’s legs and spreading them apart until he was completely tied up, unable to move an inch.

He could feel them part his folds slightly, rubbing against him and ignoring the way his prosthetic cock stirred and ached just above his opening, begging to be touched.

“What would those fools say if they could see you now…” Reaper’s tone was throaty, thick with lust, and Zenyatta tilted his head forwards, the only thing he could still move, to press their foreheads together, and sent a flicker of omnic energy through Reaper’s mask to lick at the face he knew was hiding beneath.

“They… can not.” It was hard to speak still, static breaking his words, his voice box crackling under the onslaught of pleasure.

His body was burning, inside and outside, and yet this was _not enough_ –he wanted Reaper, he wanted what Reaper was promising him with every caress, with every teasing gesture, with every motion. He wanted to feel Reaper penetrate him, fill him until there was nothing to be filled, finish what his nanomachines had started and claim him.

His prosthetic cock was trapped between them, fully erect and leaking an excessive amount of lubrication, and when Reaper’s hand brushed against its length, testing the metallic edges and the pistons at its base, Zenyatta seized up, unable to move but so desperately wanting to bare himself further, unapologetic in his need.

Zenyatta gasped, soft, wanton sounds, his forehead array flickering as he felt fingers, hot and searching, push the tendrils of darkness aside to rub at the sensors just past his entrance, always teasing, never fully penetrating him and simply meant to drag even more pleas out of him. “Ah–”

His mala hummed and drew closer, the enticing feeling of the ever-present pain from Reaper making them stronger, a cycle of taking and giving, and with every wave of healing energy Reaper himself seemed to grow stronger, more present and tangible against him.

Strong, deft fingers massaged and knead the silicon of his opening, knuckles pressing down and into him before retreating, over and over, slick with lubrication and slippery. “Aa _ah_ – G-Gabri- _el_ …”

The fingers stilled before retreating, but before Zenyatta could protest, demand even that touch to come back, he felt them return.

They slid inside him easily, wet as he was, pressing inside with little care, but it was not enough –they did nothing to soothe the ache inside him, the fire that Reaper’s actions and his nanomachines had started, and Zenyatta shook his head, muttering a long stream of “no, no, not enough, Gabriel–” every time Reaper pushed his finger inside him to scissor him and push at every sensor inside him.

It was not enough, just more teasing, and Zenyatta choked on a sob when he felt Reaper push first two, then three fingers inside him, jerking his wrist in ways that had him cry out in pleasure.

The world spun around him, blurry everywhere except for the fingers inside him, and then even those retreated, and he slumped against the wall, unsated and aching and dripping even more lubrication.

Then… he felt something _hard_ and _big_ press against him. Bigger than Reaper’s fingers, thick and wide, and Zenyatta could have sobbed as he felt it start to push _inside_ –

“ _Gabriel_ –”

“Don’t call me _that_.” Reaper’s voice was coming from everywhere at once, his body swimming in and out of existence around him as he finally gave Zenyatta what he wanted –the full length of his cock inside him. “It is _not_ my name”.

Zenyatta arched up against him, groaning. There was no pain as Reaper stretched him and penetrated him, his thick length pushing inside without pausing, rubbing the sensitive nerves and sensors lining every inch of Zenyatta’s insides. Zenyatta took him in eagerly, until he felt Reaper fully seated inside him, as deep as he could go.

And then even deeper. The nanomachines filled him where Reaper himself could not reach, digging and buzzing and lapping at Zenyatta’s healing energy, moving in tune with it, pulsating and absorbing it and making Zenyatta’s body sing in turn.

After all the teasing, the relentless, strong stimulation of the nanomachines and Reaper’s fingers, the pleasure of being filled was nearly too much –too sharp, stretching him almost to the point of pain, and yet just enough to be perfect.

Zenyatta felt the edge between himself and Reaper blur, nanomachines expanding his senses until he could almost _touch_ the raw, searing pain Reaper felt constantly, like a dull throb in the back of his mind. Zenyatta gasped, moaned and embraced it, sought out every fragment of that torment to purify it away, as he always did whenever they met, whenever Reaper came to him, time after time, stealing Zenyatta when no one was looking…

“ _Gabriel_ –”

Reaper pushed away, retreating from inside him, and Zenyatta frantically clenched down around his cock, trying to keep him _there_ , not wanting the emptiness that would follow if Reaper left him so soon– and then Reaper moved, thrusting into him so roughly Zenyatta almost came undone, voice raising loud and breaking into a stuttered white noise.

“ _Ah_ – _!_ ”

Thoughts scattering away, Zenyatta opened himself up, welcomed Reaper and let himself be taken as he reached out, chanting Reaper’s name – _Gabriel_ – like a mantra, and every time he moaned it he felt Reaper respond with a choked, angry groan, and thrust even _harder_.

Zenyatta welcomed it all.

The pain and anguish he could feel within Reaper were still there, calling for him, crying out, and Zenyatta’s very soul ached to soothe them, his mala answering his unvoiced plea by burning brighter, chasing away flare after flare of pain through waves of golden light.

With every soft, wet sound of Reaper’s cock slamming into him, the air around them grew thicker with energy.

The nanomachines burned Zenyatta’s Harmony, strong and fierce and full of power, and in turn they drove pleasure straight through him, flickers of electricity and static making his circuits flare up, his fingers twitching and digging harder into the wall.

There was nowhere to run, but Zenyatta had no intention to run either –he just wanted more… more of that pleasure, more of Reaper’s pain, and _take it all_ within him…

“Ah… ah–”

Reaper’s body expanded and dissipated into tendrils of nanomachines, more and more of them as they sucked and fed on Zenyatta’s mala.

The alley blurred and disappeared as all Zenyatta could see was Reaper’s form swallowing everything, until he truly became the focus of Zenyatta’s world, pleasure and pain writhing inside him, wrestling for control.

“ _Ah_ –”

Everything was motion, and everything was focused on Reaper, and what he was doing.

Reaper fucking him hard against a wall he could barely feel, Reaper’s nanomachines vibrating and stimulating each nerve, each node in Zenyatta’s body that he’d never known could be touched like this before, Reaper’s raspy, choked voice grunting against the curve of his neck, his cock buried inside him, thick and hot–

“Gabriel–!”

He longed to touch him, but again he was denied, wrapped so completely within Reaper’s grasp that he could only _take_ what Reaper was giving him.

There was no hesitation, no pause in Reaper’s pace, just relentless, rough fucking.

He was barely aware when Reaper’s mask melted away like liquid ink, revealing a scarred face underneath, glowing red eyes wide and mouth parted to bite down on Zenyatta’s neck pistons, his teeth bared to pant through them, tasting metal and sweat.

Finally – _finally_ – the restraints tying his hands above his head melted away, not releasing their hold but freeing him enough that he could wrap both arms around Reaper’s back, holding onto him instead.

Around them, coils surged up to curl around them like a blanket, a pulsating mass of darkness shielding them from sight until they were completely submerged in it. Zenyatta’s mala hovered above them for a second longer before floating lower and sinking into the darkness, disappearing within it, droplets of golden in their wake.

Standing in the middle of the writhing mass of nanomachines, Zenyatta was barely aware of what was happening, too lost in the pleasure to care. The air itself was thick and heavy and vibrating against his chassis, expanding and heightening his sensations to the point he could barely say where his body ended and where Reaper’s began, except for his cock still moving inside him.

Like this, everything was amplified –the pleasure of the nanomachines, and also Reaper’s pain cursing through him, lessened now under the onslaught of Zenyatta’s healing energy.

It was a dizzying, exhilarating feeling, and Zenyatta allowed himself to get lost in it.

Time expanded around him, his sensors fried and overwhelmed with input, processors shutting down under the onslaught of data exchange, thought processes culled to make his priority the healing and the pleasure.

There was so much of it, all at once.

The hard, steady thrusts of Reaper’s cock inside him, the sounds of flesh against metal, his opening slick and abused and wet, the embarrassing noises leaving his voice box as he pleaded for more…

Pleasure was a constant, pain was a constant, and their edges blurred inside Zenyatta’s brain like a high.

He could feel his peak approaching, abused sensors flashing warnings through his mind that he ignored.

It was slow but sure, a crest he felt with every hard thrust, with every stroke of Reaper’s calloused hands around his prosthetic cock, with every time his teeth found one of the sensors in his neck and bit down on it, harshly enough to dent the metal and send sparkles flying between them.

It was coming, and he could feel it reflected through Reaper as well, in the way he slumped, heavy and huffing harshly, against him, shoulders trembling even as his thrusts never lost their even pace.

Reaper pressed his face in the crook of Zenyatta’s neck. “Do it,” he grunted out. His voice was barely recognisable now, just as rough as before but more human, without that weird otherworldly echo, and then he added “… please,” in a quiet, shaky tone.

Around them, the suffocating pocket of nanomachines vibrated and cracked, and though so lost in his pleasure, Zenyatta heard him.

His forehead array flickered softly, and he felt his core ache with fondness, his fingers digging into the frayed edges of Reaper’s back, nanomachines shifting and buzzing under his touch. “Yes…”

He arched his back and let go.

Inside him, pleasure crested and crashed and golden light exploded from inside his core, expanding to encompass his entire body, and Gabriel, filling every inch of the sphere of writhing nanomachines until everything was bathed in light.

The Iris blossomed inside him as Zenyatta climaxed, his pleasure reaching its highest point, stretching on as he passed through transcendence, his circuits fizzing at the pleasure. Against him Reaper seized up and cried out, his body dragged through the Iris by his connection with Zenyatta’s circuits.

Without warning, Reaper closed his eyes, muffling his cries on the metal of Zenyatta’s neck, and climaxed inside him, the edges of his body unravelling to the touch of the light.

For a blissful, perfect moment, stretching on for as long as Zenyatta could touch the Iris, Reaper felt no pain.

There was pleasure, the kind he knew and a deeper, clean one that belonged to the light itself, but for those few, precious seconds, the constant agony of his mangled body was absent.

No pain, no aches, no writhing mass of nanomachines that made up his body –nothing.

Just Zenyatta’s translucent, glowing frame pressed against his own, gold everywhere, and pleasure.

It felt like the moment he touched the Iris stretched on forever, amplifying his pleasure and sublimating it, bathed in warmth, but even that feeling had to end.

Zenyatta felt the Iris recede from his body and mourned its loss as he felt it vanish, optical sensors flickering at the sudden drop in light.

With it, the grip of the nanomachines on his body wavered and fell, and the constant pressure and touches ended, leaving him feeling raw and weak, his body almost lethargic as his system tried to compensate for the loss and rewire his processes back online.

Under his fingers, Reaper’s body was heavy and real, more solid than he had been before, nanomachines slowing down and returning to form the edges of his frame as they both slumped against the wall, tired and sated.

Zenyatta’s body was still humming, the lingering traces of his climax making his fingers shake as he unwound his arms from around Reaper, circuits twitching and trembling as he slid down onto the ground. His legs were unable to hold him up, and as Reaper was still inside him and not in any rush to let go, he went down with him, heavy on top of him.

Forehead pressed against the curve of his neck, Reaper panted, mouth open wide, and shivered.

He felt strong, buzzing with energy and at the same time pleasantly tired.

The nanomachines were drunk with energy, vibrating and almost dormant inside him, having already returned from the depths of Zenyatta’s body, and for a moment longer, he felt no pain –though he knew it would come back, eventually.

It always did.

For a few more seconds, Reaper allowed himself to stay like this, then he shifted and slid out of Zenyatta, lips curling up in distaste at the lube slicking his softening dick, but when he glanced down as he stood up, the sight of how wrecked Zenyatta looked made him smirk, eyes flickering red before his face disappeared under his mask once again.

Zenyatta, sprawled on the ground with his legs open, looked up at Reaper, pushing his disappointment down when he noticed he was already wearing his mask once again.

His body was still recalibrating, small shivers running down his frame as the leftover traces of his climax still made his circuits twitch, and he knew it would be a while before he could still his tremors.

He contemplated hovering, but his energy had been depleted by his transcending, so he pushed one hand against the wall to get up, only to pause when Reaper offered him one hand in silence.

Accepting it, Zenyatta stood up, legs shaking, and slumped against Reaper’s frame.

Instead of protesting, Reaper allowed it –their contact lingering until Zenyatta felt stable enough to stand on his own.

“Will you be alright?” satisfied that his voice did not shake, Zenyatta slid one hand down against his front, his system already in the process of reabsorbing the lubrication and Reaper’s sticky seed to be disposed of later on.

He did not miss the way Reaper looked down at his motion, though his mask was as unreadable as ever.

“Do not ask stupid questions,” Reaper growled, the edge in his voice betrayed by the hand that moved to grab Zenyatta’s wrist, tugging him close until they were once again pressed flush against one another.

“It is better to ask a stupid question then remain quiet in ignorance.” Zenyatta tilted his head to the side and recalled his mala, which had been hovering quietly in the air above them, no more glowing, their presence only betrayed by the soft sound they made as they rotated idly. “I do, however, care to receive an answer to that.”

“I feel… adequately sustained.”

Zenyatta’s unconvinced hum was as obvious as rolling his eyes would have been, if he had any.

He could feel Reaper’s aura, less pained, less strained, if he reached out to feel it, so he did not have to ask –and yet, sometimes spoken words were more reassuring than a reading could ever be.

As it was, his processes were still addled by the last remnants of pleasure, and the knowledge that he had at least been able to heal Reaper’s wound were enough to soothe his worries, even if he had not been there for that reason.

“I am rather late.” Zenyatta sighed, looking away from Reaper’s mask. “I have to leave.”

Reaper hesitated, the hand still holding his wrist tightening his hold, but in the end, he said nothing, and took a step back.

Zenyatta watched him for a second –not disappointed, nor sad… he had learned to accept their encounters for what they were– then looked down at himself, realising the state of his clothes.

His pants were ruined and wet with lubrication, conspicuously ripped only in the area around his modesty panel, now slid shut.

The sheer contrast between their appearances –Zenyatta’s unkempt one versus Reaper’s stoic, unruffled stance– made Zenyatta chuckle softly, the sound echoing in the alley like music.

“That is an unfortunate situation.”

“indeed.” Reaper’s chuckle caught him by surprise, but he had no time to say anything because as he looked up, Reaper was already gone, leaving him alone in the side alley to contemplate his next course of action.

With a soft sigh, Zenyatta slid out of his ruined pants, shifted his sash and dhoti to cover his modesty panel, and walked out of the alley, his pace unhurried.

Behind him, from the safety of an unknown watching spot, he could feel Reaper’s eyes burning on his retreating back.

***

–*–*–*–

***

Genji hurried down the corridor of the Overwatch base, footsteps almost silent as he rushed to the door of Zenyatta’s dorm room.

He paused in front of it long enough to knock, even though his instinct had been to just enter without waiting for permission, but long years under Zenyatta’s tutelage stilled his hurry, allowing him to keep his proper countenance.

When Zenyatta answered, his voice muffled by the closed door, Genji pushed it open and stepped into his room.

He had been told Zenyatta had been missing for over half an hour, delaying the return of his team after his mission, but had not appeared to be harmed. He had refused a check-up, preferring to rush to his room for some reason, and though Winston hadn’t sounded bothered by it, Genji still worried.

So, after having finished his own mission he had returned at the base in a hurry, bent to see for himself that his master was in good health.

Genji did not, however, expect to see Zenyatta placidly sitting on his bed, legs uncovered, in the middle of sewing what looked like a hole in his pants.

Zenyatta was not wearing his pants, and the sight made Genji freeze, any word he might have wanted to say dying in his throat.

Underneath his visor, Genji’s cheeks burned red in embarrassment, eyes lingering on the curve of Zenyatta’s metallic thighs.

“I–” instead of words, he made a strange, strangled sound.

“Welcome back, Genji. Was your mission successful?” looking unperturbed and completely at ease despite his state of unexpected, unusual undress, Zenyatta swiftly added another stitch to his pants.

Genji cursed at himself, and cleared his throat. “Ah… y-yes, master. And yours?”

“Went as fine as you can expect,” Zenyatta smiled, pausing in his work and shifting on the bed. The pants moved to the side, uncovering enough of his  upper thigh that Genji felt the temperature in the room raise. “Was there anything you wished to tell me?”

“I… no. Thank you. I… I will be in the kitchen when you are done with your… pants.”

He did not even wait to hear Zenyatta’s answer, already bolting out of the room.

Zenyatta watched him go, head tilted to the side in amusement, then looked down at his thighs, mirth fading into something softer as his fingers traced an obvious finger-shaped dent at the edge of his hip.

After a few seconds, he picked up his sewing kit and started working again.

**Author's Note:**

> this is open enough to leave room for one-shot additions in the future, even non nsfw ones, dealing with their other meetings perhaps. who knows? (or also more porn. that'd be ok too)


End file.
